Sapper Squadron 1952
by trek-grrrl
Summary: Crossover, MASH, Other. A Corps of Engineers squadron is bombed and they're taken to the 4077th. See how the MASH unit looks to the young commander. (Not Alternate Universe, either). COMPLETE. Please R&R.
1. Chapter One

(Author's Note: My very first MASH fanfic. A rather surprising Crossover. Don't peek at the end of this chapter, or you'll ruin the surprise!) 

"Sapper Squadron, Korea, 1952."

Chapter One.

Doctors Winchester, Hunnicutt and Pierce collapsed onto their respective bunks in the Swamp, after 30 hours of meatball surgery. Colonel Potter, who'd had a chance to rest during the marathon session, had sent them all to their bunks.

"I'll stay in post-op, you boys skidaddle!" He shoo'ed them away with the order to sleep until they couldn't sleep any more. "The nurses and I can take it from here. ICORPS said after this initial volley, it's expected to be relatively quiet in this sector, at least for 48 hours. Now GIT!"

They got. He didn't have to tell them twice.

All three managed to sleep from that afternoon until early morning, when they were awakened by the usual and dreaded "Attention, all personnel! Incoming wounded!" So much for the predicted 48 hours. At least they'd had a chance to get several hours' sleep before the next session.

The doctors quickly changed out of the stale, blood-stained scrubs in which they'd lain into fresh clothes, as the ambulances began pouring into the compound.

Hawkeye glanced up to the chopper pad to see if there was a chopper bringing the more critically wounded in. The roar of the ambulances drowned out the chopper that was just landing.

"BJ, you go up to the chopper pad, Charles and I will handle the ambulances," he ordered, as Chief Surgeon.

"Right!" yelled BJ, already running for the pad.

Potter glanced up from the wounded soldier he and Houlihan were tending. "Winchester, pneumothorax over there," he yelled, pointing to a soldier thrashing on a stretcher.

The three doctors in triage, with the nurses' competent help, soon had the wounded organized by priority.

BJ ran into Pre-Op, leading two orderlies carrying the stretcher from the chopper pad. "Hawkeye!" BJ called.

Hawkeye looked up from the soldier he was preparing to operate on.

"Hawk, this guy needs Charles. Lacerated liver, pneumothorax, possible spinal injury. He took the brunt of the attack it looks like, he was the squadron leader."

"CHARLES!" Hawkeye called to the thoracic surgeon, who was scrubbing in the nearby room.

Winchester pushed through the swinging doors, holding his sterile hands away from any contact. Charles looked at the patient BJ was hovering over to visually assess the problems.

"I've got another pneumothorax waiting, but this one goes first. Hunnicutt, you can handle the other one." He looked at Hawkeye to see if that was okay. Winchester may outrank Hawkeye as far as the US Army was concerned, but when they were in surgery, Charles knew Hawkeye was ultimately in charge, as Chief Surgeon.

Colonel Blake had been wise to designate one surgeon in charge, to avoid issues and personality conflict during critical times such as this. A clear chain-of-command was needed, when the C.O. was not present. Colonel Potter was already in surgery on his first of many patients.

Charles motioned to Kellye. "Lieutenant, please get this soldier ready for surgery, I'll take him first."

"Yes, Doctor."

BJ looked closer at the young Lieutenant, who was fortunately unconscious and not suffering. He pulled out the dog-tags to give Kellye the information.

"Healey, Roger E., Lieutenant, US Army Corps of Engineers."

(More coming very soon!)


	2. Chapter Two

"Sapper Squadron, Korea, 1952." 

Chapter Two.

Roger heard voices as he lay motionless and frozen on a cot, confused about where he was. He tried to recall the last several hours and only had a vague sense of explosions and light as his squadron had come under enemy fire.

They'd been ordered to move in, get a bridge thrown together and get out. They worked in their usual fast and efficient manner, the front line encroaching upon them. Unfortunately, the front moved faster than they did.

His last conscious memory until now was commanding his men to take cover in the river they were building over, then the explosion of sound and light, of searing pain, then nothingness. Until now.

His head was turned to the left. He opened his eyes, blinking furiously to try to clear them. He didn't even have the strength to raise his arm to rub his eyes.

He blearily saw one of his men lying in the cot next to him. Private Carter. The young man was looking at him as well.

"Lieutenant?" he asked. "You still with us, sir?"

All Roger could do was try to nod his head. He couldn't believe how groggy and weak he was!

Healey saw the blonde nurse beyond Carter, writing in her post-op log. She looked at the two men when she heard their subdued conversation and smiled.

She went to Roger to check his vitals and the tubes going into his arm. No wonder I couldn't lift it, he thought, when he saw all the tubes running in and out of him.

"Lieutenant, it's nice to have you with us again." She smiled at Private Carter as well.

WOW! was all Roger could think when he saw the beautiful nurse. Women were scarce in his line of work, so he could certainly appreciate them on the rare occasions he saw them.

A Major. Way out of his league, then, he realized. Like that would stop him. Looked like she was at least fifteen years older than he as well. A beautiful woman nevertheless. He loved blondes.

"I saw him, Officer. Black four-door sedan, hit and run." he mumbled.

Margaret smiled at him. So many of the young men who came through were rascals, almost instantly flirting with her if they were conscious. Being in a cot in post-op, often bandaged and tubed up, didn't seem to deter them. Bless their hearts, she thought. Seeing the wounded in playful spirits was a good sign.

"Yes, Lieutenant, we caught the guy," she quipped.

He smiled in appreciation. Beautiful AND a sense of humor. Even better!

"What...what happened, Major?" he mumbled again. He couldn't believe his own voice, so quiet and weak.

Margaret looked at the entrance to Post-Op, Charles just coming in to begin his duty shift. "Lieutenant, let Dr. Winchester talk to you. He's the one who operated on you."

She motioned to Charles. "Doctor, the lieutenant is conscious. He wants to know what happened to him."

"Yes, of course," Charles said, going to the cot. He picked up Healey's chart and read it over. "Lt. Healey, you came in with lacerations to your liver, a pneumothorax and..." he checked again, "...your spinal column seems to have been bruised. Nothing permanently damaging, but potentially serious. I am afraid you'll be our guest here for at least two weeks, so we can see how you're mending in that regard."

Roger didn't say anything at first, so Winchester began to walk off. Like Margaret couldn't have told him all that, he thought.

"A pneumo-what-ax?" Roger asked.

Charles stopped and looked back, smiling. That was a medical term he'd yet to hear. "A pneumothorax. Commonly called by laypeople a 'sucking chest wound.'"

"Sounds nasty," Roger replied.

"'Nasty' describes it well. The surgery went fine, of course, you had the best of the 4077th operating on you."

"Thank you, then, Doctor." Another Major. He was surrounded by Majors. Any real personnel here?

"Of course. No thanks needed. Major Houlihan here will go over your recovery process. The liver laceration and pneumothorax surgery went well, but we'll of course keep an eye on both. It's mainly the spinal column bruising that concerns us. She will go over a physical therapy plan for you for the next several days."

Charles uncovered Roger's feet and ran a pen up the length of his foot. "Do you feel that?"

The reflex of the foot pulling back was all the answer he needed. So was Roger's response.

"OUCH!" Roger tried to yell. His voice was still too weak for more than mumbling.

"Excellent," Charles said, undisturbed at causing pain. Roger glared at him.

Charles smiled again at him, in that condescending fashion he so often employed. "Lt. Healey, if you had NOT felt it, that would have been a bad thing. Be happy you did." And he walked off.

Roger watched him leave. "That's some bedside manner he's got, Major."

She sighed as Charles went to the nurses' station to jot down notes in Roger's file. "Yes, he's something else. What's really annoying is he really IS the best here. And he knows it. And reminds us of it constantly." She turned back to Roger, with her nurse's smile in place once more. "I'll let you rest now, and we'll get you freshened up when you wake again, and start going over what you'll need for physical therapy after the chest and liver wounds have had a chance to heal. Slow and steady is the key, when the spinal column is involved. But you probably know that."

"Yes, ma'am," he smiled in response, closing his eyes. He liked that her smiling lovely face was the last thing he saw as he slipped into normal sleep once more.


	3. Chapter Three

"Sapper Squadron, Korea, 1952." 

Chapter Three.

Roger managed to sleep several hours before he woke to the sound of someone near him. He opened his eyes to see a younger man, a Corporal, fussing with a little bag.

Radar saw the Lieutenant open his eyes, and smiled at him.

"Lt. Healey, I hope I didn't wake you up. I was just going over your personal effects."

"No, no problem, Corporal. I slept pretty well, they've got me so drugged up."

"Yes, sir." Radar paused a moment and continued. "Sir, I read on your file that you're from Iowa. I am too!"

Roger perked up. "Really? Where? I'm Des Moines."

"Otumwa."

"So Des Moines would be big city to an Otumwa boy," Roger said, smiling to make sure the young man didn't think he was making fun of the little town.

Radar laughed in appreciation. "Yes, sir, Otumwa is awfully small, but it's home."

"Home...I was born in Des Moines, but I spent most of my youth in Chicago. Family's from Iowa though, that's where my roots are. I went back to Iowa for college. So Iowa is still in me, it's my state."

"Yes, sir, mine too."

Radar pulled up a chair so they could sit and talk quietly. It always felt great when someone from Iowa came through, or even one of the nearby states. He never missed a chance to talk with a fellow Iowan. They talked that way for several minutes, until Hawkeye, the physician on duty, stopped by to check Healey's chart and progress.

"Ah, yes, Lt. Healey. Liver...you've got one, that's good, they're important. Chest...got one of those as well. Spinal column...three for three, excellent!" He flipped to the front of the chart notes. "And Iowa. I see our native boy here has homed in on you already."

"Yes, Doctor, he's telling me all about Otumwa," and Roger winked at Hawkeye. The doctor knew how fiercely loyal Radar was to the little town.

Hawkeye grinned back, not letting Radar see the exchange. Healey didn't miss the sparkle in the doctor's blue eyes.

Hawkeye replied, "I feel like I've been to Otumwa, I've heard so much about it. Now it's your turn." He winked back at Healey as he continued to Private Carter's chart notes.

Radar said, after Hawkeye left, "He's a Maine boy. He talks as much about Crabapple Cove as I do about Otumwa. Ask him sometime!"

Roger laughed. It was funny, here they were all in Korea, and they wanted to talk about home. It was a common thread they all had: their home states and towns, the tie that connected them to family and country, a respite from the battles and blood and gore.

Margaret smiled as she approached the two men. "Corporal, if you'll excuse us, I need to take care of Lt. Healey."

Radar stood. "Yes, ma'am. Lt. Healey, I'll be back later, we can talk more."

"I'll be sure I'm back from the Iowa versus State football game, Corporal. The Major here is going to release me. I'm all better now."

Radar laughed. "Yes, sir."

After he was gone, Margaret turned to him, sponge and water ready for his sponge bath. "I think it might be a while before you're throwing a football, Lieutenant. At least three days."

"Yes, ma'am," he said as he eyed the sponge bath materials. This should prove interesting.


	4. Chapter Four

"Sapper Squadron, Korea, 1952." 

Chapter Four.

Roger was restless. The three days had gone by, and no footballs to throw. He was getting antsy to do SOMETHING.

The physician on duty came by to check his chart notes. Again. This time it was Dr. Hunnicutt. How many doctors worked at a MASH, he wondered.

BJ looked over the extensive notes on Healey's recovery. The liver and chest wounds were healing nicely, no signs of infection. The patient had feeling and movement in the lower extremities as well.

Roger watched the doctor, and finally asked, "Doctor, WHEN am I going to be able to do anything? My men are all gone, and I'm hoping I still have a unit when I get out of here!"

BJ smiled at him, understanding the younger man's anxiety on getting out. Engineers liked to DO things, not just lay about helplessly as this man had done for four days.

"Dr. Winchester is your physician. I'll talk to him about your recovery, and when you can start the physical therapy the nurses have written up for you. Let me look you over one more time, and if everything's all right, you can at least go ambulatory."

He carefully pulled away the bandages on Healey's chest and abdomen and poked around. "Does this hurt?"

"Stings a little, but it's not a deep ache as it has been."

"Good, good." His fingers continued to probe gently, but expertly, around the closed wounds. No swelling and redness. Movement in a wheelchair shouldn't exacerbate the damage. He reached down and carefully tickled the bottom of Roger's foot.

The twitch told him the feeling was still there. At least he didn't scrape a pen on me, Roger thought, chuckling at the sensation.

"Feeling is there," BJ said. "We should let you go in a chair at least. The nurses, like I said, will work with you on walking. Lying prone is one thing, but standing upright could put additional pressure on your spinal column. That's why we're being so cautious."

"Yes, sir. If I could at least GO somewhere, it'd make this visit a lot less boring."

"Hmmmm, let's see..." BJ checked his watch. "We're having our weekly poker game in a couple hours, feel like losing some money, Healey?"

Roger grinned, "Yes, SIR!"

"And don't bother with the 'sir,' Healey, I'm just a doctor the Army glommed onto. Call me BJ. Looks like we'll be hanging out for a while, at least a week. You're healing nicely, but that spine... well, you know what's coming."

"Sure, BJ." This guy was nice. Not regular Army like he was, but drafted into service like so many were. Hawkeye had already insisted he drop the "sir" and "Captain" routine as well.

Roger had volunteered soon after graduating from college, and then the Korean conflict began months later. He'd learned BJ and Hawkeye, the Chief Surgeon, were Captains. Neither wore their rank insignia. Being doctors was obviously more important to them than being Captains. Winchester was a Major because he'd volunteered, and landed a sweet posting at a Tokyo hospital. Roger learned via scuttlebutt that Winchester ended up at the 4077th after annoying one too many Colonels in Tokyo. He was learning a LOT about the 4077th by lying in his cot and listening to their banter.

Colonel Potter and Major Houlihan were regular Army all the way. Somewhere between cavalry and being the C.O. of a MASH unit, Potter had attended medical school and became an excellent surgeon, with many decades of practice behind him. Margaret managed to combine being a Major in this man's Army and a compassionate and caring Chief Nurse.

Roger couldn't wait to get out of that cot. He saw BJ motion to one of the orderlies.

"Klinger! Can you bring that over here? The Lieutenant's going ambulatory this afternoon."

Roger didn't know what to make of Corporal Klinger. The man wore an Army uniform, yes, but he accessorized it with a yellow scarf and big hoop earrings. Toledo, Ohio. Go figure. Who was Roger to judge? Nobody at the 4077th seemed to think it strange and unusual, so he mentally shrugged and figured, eh, different strokes.

Klinger smiled as he approached with the wheelchair. "My condolences, Lt. Healey."

Roger laughed, "For what?"

"For subjecting you to this hellhole called the 4077th MASH."

"I've looked at these walls for four days, ANYTHING will be an improvement!"

Klinger looked dubious. "If you say so, sir."

He and BJ helped Roger up. Roger realized now, sitting up, that the spinal column bruising was worse than they had realized. He'd lain prone for so many days, that sitting up made him dizzy. He started to fall back.

"Klinger!" BJ yelled as the two men caught him and gently laid him down again. Charles walked in just in time to see what happened.

"HUNNICUTT! What do you think you're DOING with my patient?" he demanded.

Charles was furious. To have another doctor PRESUME to determine HIS patient was ready to go ambulatory, without consulting him first? Healey's collapse was evidence that he was not ready.

BJ stood to face Charles, who was glaring at him. BJ realized he'd misjudged Healey's readiness to get up and move, even in a wheelchair.

"Charles, I..."

Before BJ could continue, Roger spoke up.

"Doctor Winchester, please, it's my fault. I thought I was ready to get up and do something, Dr. Hunnicutt checked me over thoroughly. I was being a pest."

Charles looked at his patient, the anger sparking in his eyes. "Pest or no, it's not up to you OR Dr. Hunnicutt to determine when you are ready to leave that bed. It is up to ME."

Roger said, with respect, "Yes, sir, I understand that. I was getting anxious to get up or start my physical therapy you mentioned, just to do something. Sir."

Charles relented and relaxed, the anger gone. "Yes, Lieutenant, you are correct. You should be ready to go ambulatory. Slow and easy though, not jumping into it."

He motioned to Klinger and BJ to help him with Roger once more. This time, Roger was ready for the possible vertigo and even helped pull himself up. The muscles in his chest and abdomen complained, but it wasn't so painful that he couldn't use them.

"Now, sit there for a few moments, get an idea of how it feels. Any unusual pains?"

"No, sir. Pretty achey all over, but that's it. I think I almost fainted from having been lying down so long."

"Hypotension, yes. Dr. Hunnicutt should have thought of that." He ignored BJ's glare.

Charles stood and motioned for BJ and Klinger to proceed with moving Healey into the wheelchair. Now that HE had approved of such a move, he was no longer angry at another doctor usurping his authority. Roger tried to help with the process, but his legs, although he could move them, didn't seem to want to support him. The men got him settled in and propped his feet on the foot rests.

"There you go, Healey!" BJ said. He was used to Charles' little theatrics, although he'd realized Charles had the right to be annoyed this time. Oh well, he'll get over it, he always does.

"Klinger, take him around the camp, give him the grand tour. He's going to join us for the game tonight at the Swamp," BJ said. He looked at Charles to be sure that was all right.

"Yes, that should be an interesting diversion. I, of course, will be on duty."

A couple hours later, Roger was in the crowded Swamp. The weekly poker game was immensely popular, drawing officers and enlisted personnel alike. Colonel Potter was there, as well as Major Houlihan, Doctors Pierce and Hunnicutt, Corporals Klinger and O'Reilly, Father Mulcahy and Dr. Sidney Freedman, a visiting Major.

Roger enjoyed how these people got along, such a diverse group and having so much fun together. They'd set him in a prime spot in his wheelchair so he wouldn't miss anything. Major Freedman, he found out, was a psychiatrist that the unit often called upon to deal with the wounded and even their own mental health. Roger felt the older man's eyes on him as the evening went on.

Sidney watched the young lieutenant, who was sitting quietly listening to the 4077th staff. He exhibited a wonderful sense of humor, playing along with Hawkeye and BJ in their antics. He was very relaxed and didn't seem distressed that he was stuck in a wheelchair, away from his unit and his usual duties.

"So, Healey, is this the first time you've been wounded?" Sidney asked quietly.

"Yes, sir, first time. Hopefully last time!"

"Anxious to get back to your unit?"

"Yes, if I still HAVE a unit!"

Sidney knew he would. He'd read about the Lieutenant after the squadron had drawn enemy fire. Roger probably didn't recall all that happened, but because of his foresight and command, many of the men were saved who may've very well have been killed. Sidney also knew Roger was put in for a Purple Heart, and probably other medals as well for his bravery.

Sidney smiled. "I'm sure you will, Lieutenant."

Roger's eyes lit up, "I wish I could remember the helicopter ride in here, but I was kind of out of it. I love choppers, and never get tired of seeing them. I'm hoping some day, when this 'conflict' is over, I can learn to fly as well!"

Sidney nodded his head, still smiling. Very resilient young man. Took his command and work seriously, but wasn't so regular Army that he couldn't relax with the higher ups and the enlisted personnel. Amiable guy, and intelligent as well. He'd do well in the Army, maybe even flying some day.

Postscript:

Major Freedman's assessment of Lieutenant Roger E. Healey was accurate.

Soon after the Korean Conflict, Healey went to helicopter flight school. He exhibited such excellent skills as a helicopter pilot that he was one of the lucky few Army officers assigned to Test Pilot School at Edwards AFB, California, where he met the man who would become his best friend, Lt. Anthony Nelson. Healey and his US Army aircrew went on to earn the "Top Gun" Award in a USAF yearly competition. Soon after, he and Nelson learned of the new NASA astronaut training program and applied together.

The rest, as they say, is history.

(Author's note: You can read about Roger's and Tony's early and later years as best friends, including the Top Gun competition, in my "I Dream of Jeannie" fanfic "The Thousandth Man.")


End file.
